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"But he's not like that, Mom," I countered, my voice rising in defense of Emilio. "He doesn't even want to be in the mafia."
My mother's grip tightened, her expression fraught with fear.
"Ma è ancora nella mafia, vero?(But he's still in the mafia, isn't he?)" she pressed, her tone quivering with anxiety.
I pulled away, shaking my head in disbelief.
"Yes, but..." I began, attempting to explain Emilio's situation, but my mother cut me off, her voice resolute.
"He's lying to you, Griselda. You can't trust him," she asserted, her eyes searching mine, filled with a mixture of apprehension and desperation.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my emotions.
"Mom, I understand your concern, but you have to believe me," I implored, meeting her gaze with determination. "Emilio is not like his father. He's different."
My mother's features softened, but the worry remained etched in her expression.
"È solo che non voglio che tu ti faccia male, Tesoro(I just don't want you to get hurt, darling)," she admitted, her voice laced with a mix of fear and tenderness. "I've seen enough pain in my life. I don't want you to go through the same."
I reached out and held her hand, the weight of her concern settling heavily in my heart.
"I know, Mom. But I love him," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "And I believe in him."
I held my mother's hand firmly, a torrent of emotions churning within me.
"I understand, Mom. But it's not as simple as you think. Leaving the mafia is not an easy feat," I explained, my voice tinged with frustration.
My mother shook her head, her expression etched with disapproval.
"I still don't approve of this, Griselda," she reiterated, her worry palpable in her tone.
My patience waned, and I couldn't help but retort,
"You shouldn't judge Emilio when you don't even know him, Mom. Just because Dad and his father deceived you doesn't mean Emilio will do the same to me."
Her sigh was heavy with the weight of her concern.
"I'm just afraid, Griselda. I can't bear the thought of something happening to you," she confessed, her voice tinged with vulnerability.
"I understand where your fear is coming from," I replied, my tone softening as I squeezed her hand gently. "But I know Emilio. And even if I were to leave him, would I be able to raise our child by myself?"
Her gaze softened, and I could see the conflict within her. She pulled me into a tight embrace, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just want what's best for you, my dear."
I held onto her, the warmth of her embrace a balm to my troubled heart.
"I know, Mom. I know," I murmured.
I thought I was getting through to my mom, but our conversation escalated into a fiery argument, my mother's worry transforming into frustration.
"But what if he can't leave the mafia, Griselda? What if he's in too deep now, leading the whole operation?" she implored, her eyes blazing with an intensity that matched her concern.
I took a step forward, my frustration boiling over.
"You don't even know him, Mom. You're judging him without even giving him a chance!" I retorted, my voice rising with every word.
She stood her ground, her features etched with worry and determination.
"I can't just stand by and watch you make the same mistakes I did. I won't let that happen," she declared, her voice resolute with a tinge of desperation.
